I looked at the girl through the glass, her eyes locked on mine.
She hovered there, suspended in the sterile white chamber, pale skin glowing under the harsh lights. Water — or whatever fluid the field maintained — beaded and slid down her body in slow, glistening trails, tracing the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, and the faint veins that pulsed softly along her thighs. Her long dark hair drifted weightlessly around her shoulders. She didn't move, but her gaze never left me.
"What do you see, Abram?" Bala asked, voice low.
"A person," I said.
"Exactly." He nodded once, sharp. "Doctor Reed says she's seventy percent normal. Improving every day."
